


A Determined Violin

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His whole body zings. It’s like he’s the violin and his heart strings are vibrating. This is ridiculous. He has become obsessed with a piece of classical music. Sam reasons that it’s preferable to demon blood and that he just has an addictive personality. It’s still ridiculous. </p><p>Joshua Bell makes Sam fall in love with his brother. </p><p>Perfectly sane.</p><p>Set sometime in Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Determined Violin

 

 

The violin swoops and soars. It winds around Sam’s heart, binding it and then burying it beneath the shuddering earthquake of the orchestra, only to impale him again with piercing accuracy moments later. He rides the giddy rollercoaster of scales, effortlessly perfect despite the complexity and speed, marking the violin player as a true virtuoso and making Sam _feel_.

 

“Sam. Sam… SAMMY!” Dean yanks an earphone out and yells, “Hey Otto!”

 

“Who?” Sam scrambles up to half-sitting on the bed, violin induced trance lingering. Dean is too close for a moment and his scent mingles with the sweet cry of the violin still playing in one ear, confusing Sam. He fumbles with the mp3 player, looking for _pause_ for a moment before giving up and shutting it down. Dean is heading for the door, concealing his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

 

“Never mind. You listening to crappy college boy music again?”  

 

“Mm.” It’s neither confirmation nor denial, but then Dean isn’t really interested. Crappy college boy music is Dean-speak for anything Sam likes that Dean doesn’t, so technically Sibelius’ Violin Concerto _could_ be included.

 

****

 

Sam has had the mp3 files for a while, a gift from one of Brady’s frat brothers who had spent an entire alcohol-soaked evening waxing lyrical about his favorite music to Sam. It had been hard not to catch on to that level of enthusiasm but Sam still put off listening until two days ago, educating himself in classical music seeming like more of a chore than a pleasure. How wrong he had been.

 

He thinks of it as a personal where-were-you-when moment, as in, _Where were you when the Berlin Wall fell?_ or, _Where were you when you heard the news on 9/11?_ Sam is always going to remember where he was when he first heard the opening bars of Sibelius’ Violin Concerto in his earphones.

 

He had beaten Dean back to the car after canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses, relaxed and unsuspecting, and the violin had torn a gaping hole in his soul. He had been paralyzed in the moment, suddenly aware of the smell of warm rain rising off the road, the immensity of the sky giving way to tentative sunbeams, the slight steam rising from the Impala’s roof and his own shallow breathing. It was like being zapped by God.

 

Dean had come moseying back to the car only moments later like a damn cowboy and Sam had been terrified. He should have known that Dean’s smug look was down to a new phone number and possible hot date (it happened often enough) but Sam wasn’t thinking clearly because of the music. He had felt guilty and exposed, as though Dean had walked in on him jerking off. He had felt a rush of arousal too, because that _happened_ around Dean, and this time his heightened emotional state magnified it unbearably.

 

****

 

The next time Sam listened to the concerto he had been on guard because it was clearly dangerous stuff. He had waited until Dean went on his hot date and laid spread eagled on his motel bed, braced for impact but no less affected. The musical patterns had been strange at first but he had soon found himself recognizing phrases. They sounded like laments and forbidden suggestions. He tried to only think of the music but couldn’t help thinking about Dean’s date or, more accurately, Dean’s one night stand.

 

Sam had closed his eyes but they wouldn’t stay closed. He had lain there wide-eyed instead, staring up at the mottled ceiling as though his body needed to be on high alert throughout the piece. Images of heated flesh assaulted him and by the third movement he had been shuddering with the build-up of emotion. It had felt like a mountain of adrenalin, as though Sam could turn it to rage, desolation or elation at will; pick an emotional door. When the music had finished Sam had sat on the edge of his bed in the intense quiet of their twilit room letting the tide of emotion ebb away, afraid to move or turn on a light lest he dispel the magic.

 

****

 

Sam had made absolutely sure that Dean had been sleeping when he had listened again the following night, eyes wide in the dark. He had felt almost painfully guilty, turning the volume very low in case the music escaped into the room. Dean’s proximity in the next bed had been a burning presence in his mind, the sun at the center of his orbit, and Sam had felt ecstatic, his body shooting off pleasure signals that he hadn't known what to do with.

 

He had needed to stay very still to listen properly and when the concerto ended he had been left tingling all over. Eventually his body had calmed enough to sleep, formless questions filtering into his dreams, persuasive echoes of a determined violin.

 

****

 

Listening in the morning leaves Sam disoriented, concerto disrupted part-way by his dunderhead of a brother, as he knew it would be. He had wanted it so badly, the dizzy emotional rush, hurrying to be ready so that he could listen for as long as possible while Dean dressed and shaved. He had been aware of the morning smells and bustle going on around him and it had mingled satisfyingly with the music. His emotions had wound up into the anticipated high, this time focusing into Sam’s fierce love for Dean’s familiarity and strength. Dean had been right there in the room with Sam… and then literally _right there_ , solid and looming, reclaiming Sam’s attention, close enough to kiss.

 

Arguments against reaching out for Dean had been lost in the concerto’s all-consuming presence. Sam thinks about the heady risk of being near Dean in that state. He thinks about what might have happened if Dean hadn’t moved away quickly enough, and there’s no mistaking the heat that sears his insides at the recklessness of the idea.

 

Dean slides Metallica into the tape deck when they set out, cranking up the volume to irritate Sam. Sam tries to be irritated, he really does, but he has to shift down in the passenger seat and cover his face with a newspaper so that Dean can’t see him smiling. His brother’s such an ass.

 

****

 

They had been drawn into the case by multiple decapitations reported in the regional news. Always a good chance of monsters on the loose when there’s a spate of decapitations. The local police were operating in a fog of confusion and a bit of digging had revealed mass amnesia, affecting only homicide detectives, and only the ones working the serial killings. All the clues had pointed to some variety of psychic leech. Sam’s mind had drifted repeatedly, from the research to the sinfully sweet voice of the violin begging for Dean’s body.

 

There were cops forgetting to pick up their kids and cops forgetting where they lived. Some of them forgot that they were trained to use firearms and others forgot that they were cops entirely. The Lieutenant went to the park to drink instead of going to work and Dean had been amused well beyond the point of decency. Sam had felt Dean’s pleasure rolling over him like harmonies resolving in a major key.

 

Tracking down the creatures responsible hadn’t exactly been brain surgery: a hive of jekai in a network of disused sewers. They behave more like ants than leeches, scuttling back to their queen with the tasty human heads they’ve collected. Scuttling metaphorically of course because, like most monsters that plague human society, they look and walk like people. Dispatching the drones should be relatively easy but there are numerous superstitions regarding jekai queens, from shape shifting to mind control, and Sam hasn’t been able to distinguish fantasy from fact with the materials available and the distraction of falling in love with Dean.

 

****

 

Dean pulls into a gas station because it’s a good idea to have a full tank of gas when they’re at the messy end of a hunt, when they end up running from the law seven times out of ten. Sam struggles with himself briefly but gives into the temptation of the concerto, sneaking the earphones out of his bag while Dean pumps. He skips straight to the second movement, heart pounding in anticipation. It’s the shortest of the three movements, and if Dean takes his time shopping for snacks or using the restroom Sam might have time to get through it.

 

The music doesn’t slam into him like it does with the first movement. He feels himself opening slowly to it like the petals of a flower opening to the sun. The voice of the violin is calmer and more intimate. It speaks of real possibilities. Dean is woven into the melody; Sam’s yearning for him inextricable by now from the song of the solo. The violin calls for Dean and it’s the sound of Sam’s closeted feelings. It gives voice to the sweet and terrible certainty that has been building inside Sam all of his life. He floats in the bubble of sound, a world entered via a cheap mp3 player and earphones, and allows his heart to sing with the violin unashamedly and unreservedly of love. He aches with the truth of it, every part of him resonating with want.

 

He imagines making love to Dean with the tenderness and care he hears in the music, making Dean’s heart sing this way too. Dean has been Sam’s shameful fantasy for many years but this recent desire to _make love_ is both thrilling and terrifying, packed with emotion and trembling in its newness. It is doubtful that Dean Winchester would consent to anything as chick-flick as making love under normal circumstances, and most definitely _not_ with his younger brother.

 

Dean comes back before the music finishes. Sam allows himself a moment of pure hedonism where Dean is inches away and the violin speaks plainly of love, his body’s delight hidden by the satchel in his lap and his closed eyes. He forces himself to stop, putting the player away before Dean can complain. He hardly needs it now anyway: Sam carries the music around in his heart. He can listen to it in his head. Dean gives him a sideways look that lingers and Sam pretends not to notice. He wonders what Dean sees.

 

****

 

They track the queen through ancient pipes for hours. When they finally corner her and begin to advance she tilts her head back and her throat bulges repulsively, like a bullfrog. She opens her mouth obscenely wide, lifting her tongue, and a heavy mist pours out. Dean is closer, hit full force by the gas as Sam leaps back, shirt pressed to nose and mouth as a makeshift mask. For an awful moment Sam is sure that Dean has been poisoned and he cries out, forgetting to protect himself. He saw the cloud of gas swirl around Dean and he’s terrified that Dean will drop dead or start seizing.

 

A blank look steals over Dean’s features but otherwise nothing happens. Sam calls his name again in panic and Dean looks confused. Then he looks pleased. Sam knows Dean like an extension of himself and he recognizes the leer and charm from a thousand bar pickups. Sam is being checked out and apparently his brother likes what he sees because he’s advancing, tilting his head in brazen contemplation, eyes promising carnal pleasure.

 

Sam feels hot all over in the intensity of that look. He hears the opening bars of the violin concerto in his head and notices the perfect curve of Dean’s skull. He wants to cup his hands around it and take what is clearly on offer. It’s distracting because Sam’s sure they were in the middle of _something_. There’s a rising smell like new plastic toys but then there’s a flash of white in the sunlight filtering through a grid and Sam remembers the queen just in time to keep Dean’s head attached. She has really impressive seven inch hook-claws but Sam has a machete and he gives her a taste of her own medicine.

 

Dean frowns and shakes off the weird amnesia spell that died with the queen. Sam’s heart sinks, even as his mind desperately catalogues that moment of guilt-free desire he saw in Dean’s face. Weak sunlight plays across Dean’s brow and it is unbearably beautiful because Sam has a personal violin in his brain that will not shut up.

 

****

 

The queen may be dead but there are angry drones appearing, five of them, and they’re going to be surrounded soon. Dean is one hundred percent back in the room now however, and they launch into action together. Sam tackles the two that block their immediate exit and Dean focuses on a mean looking guy who has crept behind.

 

There was a time not so long ago when Sam was rusty in action, lethargic from academia. Not anymore. Sam is confident and deadly, even more so at Dean’s side. He hears the third movement of the concerto in his head and the monsters are the angry thrum of the orchestra. Not just these monsters but all monsters; the rest of the world. Sam wheels his machete in an arc to slice through a red-headed she-monster going for his throat. He and Dean are one, the voice of the solo violin flying across the strings, deft and aloof.

 

The last drone turns tail, never standing a chance of escape from Dean who takes it down and executes it. The thing makes an awful gurgling noise, and when it falls silent Sam’s internal music stops too. There’s only Sam and Dean breathing heavily, eyes locked in communication of grim finality and relief. It is something that will never pass between them in words: victory and survival; living to hunt again, together. The air is thick with blood and arousal.

 

****

 

They scatter the corpses and heads with ginseng root oil, as per the lore, and then salt them for good measure before setting it all alight. Dean grins widely at Sam and claps him on the shoulder. Apparently he has forgotten forgetting; forgotten about wanting to devour Sam, which is just fine.

 

The long drive from Jekai Town passes in shared silence, the concerto creeping back into Sam’s blood early on, making him feel languid and lusty. Dean stops in the early hours of the morning at their usual type of motel with a twenty four hour front desk and a buzzing neon sign.

 

Sam is too tired to listen to the concerto but he does anyway. It’s too much. His chest aches and he is overwhelmed by the memory of Dean wanting him. His heart is too full and it overspills in hot silent tears. He falls asleep with his earphones in, salty rivulets drying into tiny white crystals.

 

****

 

Mid-morning Sam eyes his mp3 player from across the room. He checked it with the EMF meter but found nothing. “Hey Dean, ever hear of possessed pieces of music?”

 

“Yeah, like siren song or something? Or that soprano chick from Milan who literally brought the house down?” Dean looks interested. “New case?”

 

“But you have to hear it first person, right? Not a recording or on TV or something?”

 

“There are subliminal messages in Judas Priest,” Dean suggests. “S’pose there could be a spell in the lyrics or something.” He frowns, “What’s on your mp3 player Sammy?”

 

“Classical music.”

 

“Ugh!” Dean pulls a grossed-out face and makes a cross with his fingers. “Back, evil hellspawn,” he says and Sam sighs the sigh of a man who spends his life putting up with Dean Winchester.

 

****

 

His whole body zings. It’s like he’s the violin and his heart strings are vibrating. This is ridiculous. He has become obsessed with a piece of classical music. Sam reasons that it’s preferable to demon blood and that he just has an addictive personality. It’s still ridiculous. He can’t live with this intensity of feeling and he can’t stop listening.

 

Dean comes back with a Chinese takeout and Sam fights the urge to tear his earphones out guiltily. He sets them aside with his best casual act. Dean is watching him. “What’s eating you Sammy?” he asks.

 

What’s Sam supposed to say? _Hey Dean, I want to make love to you like the second movement of a violin concerto_. Yeah. Smooth. A hiccoughing laugh breaks free from Sam before he even realizes it’s funny. He shakes his head at Dean. Hopefully Dean will back off, particularly if he thinks there are uncomfortable emotions involved, and oh boy are there ever. Sam is one giant tornado of emotions. Dean should probably tie himself down or find a storm cellar.

 

Sam hopes that the next hunt will be something meaty and complicated. Something dangerous and challenging. Something he can really get his teeth into. Something that will soothe the manic violin.

 

****

 

His eyes close and it’s better this way. His body feels lovely and malleable and he welcomes the music, feeling it everywhere. He pushes his open palms down into the mattress and his cock hardens, pushing up into the thin sheet, making it damp. He imagines Dean’s hands on his face, Dean’s skin against his, and rolls his eyes inside their lids. The music takes a shortcut from his ears to his soul, bypassing his brain entirely. He has always thought of violins as raw-sounding before but the best description he can come up with now is _sweet_. It’s so very sweet. Like a burst of candy in his mouth when he’s hungry. And Sam is _starving_. He thinks of the fearless love Dean has always given him and his mouth opens in a silent cry of torment, _Dean_. He invokes a memory of Dean’s voice like honey saying, _I got you Sammy._ He remembers how Dean had looked at him when he had forgotten who they were, and Sam wants more and more and more. He wants to burn this way forever.

 

He’s achingly hard as the first movement ends and takes his cock in one hand, shocked by intense bliss at the first touch. He uses the other hand to pull the earphones away, not wanting to listen to any more, wanting to hold himself in the anguish he’s feeling right now.

 

His music bubble bursts and reality comes crashing in. Sam opens his eyes, knowing what he’s going to see before he sees it. Dean is facing him, wide awake, eyes dark. Sam’s mind reels. He rolls so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed facing Dean, sheets pooled in his lap. His thigh muscles twitching, ready to run or close the gap.

 

Dean pulls himself up, resting on his elbow. “You were breathing really loud,” his voice is deep and gentle like he’s trying to soothe. Sam feels wild and dangerous and wonders how he looks. Dean should be pretending to sleep but he isn’t. He’s letting Sam see the heat in his eyes, letting him know that Dean wants him back.

 

“Dean?” It’s a disbelieving whisper, a question, an entreaty. The moment is electric.

 

“It’s okay,” Dean reaches for him, pulling him across the gap by his wrist. Sam’s crawling into Dean’s bed, into Dean’s heat, pressing his body against Dean’s, answering hardness driving Sam a little crazy.

 

Lips find lips, becoming mouths and tongues. Hands grasp and their bodies rub and twine. The passion building between them sounds familiar to Sam. His heart is beating too hard and too fast. Blood thrums hot and heavy in his head, face, hands and cock. There’s an orchestra pounding in his brain, louder than anything that could enter through his ears.

 

He wants more, needs more, they both do. Dean finds lube and fingers him open. Sam surrenders his body, giving everything up to Dean. He wants this more than anything and hot tears escape from the corners of his eyes. Dean kisses them away and slowly breaches Sam’s body with his cock.

 

Sam is broken, undone on the inside, unhinged. Dean is in him, seated deep inside him, and it’s the best thing in the world. It can’t be real except that it _is_ and he feels so much love that more tears come. Dean seems to understand, holding him close and still. Sam wraps his arms and legs around Dean and moves, Dean rocking into him, driving sparks and fire through his body, doing it over and over again.

 

Sam was sure that it couldn’t get any better but Dean is making him _feel_ and it’s sweeter than he can bear. He’s going to explode or short circuit but he doesn’t. He’s helpless to do anything except rock against his brother and moan, “ _Dean_.” It’s a plea; Sam’s begging for his life, which is Dean’s now. Dean is coaxing music out of him, playing him and finding his natural frequency, driving at it until Sam is shaking apart, coming harder than he had known was even possible. Dean bows his head and drives home one final time, holding Sam there and coming with a guttural noise that’s the hottest thing Sam has ever heard.

 

****

 

Sam makes Dean listen to the concerto while he watches, wanting Dean to understand. Neither of them are willing to leave this particular motel just yet, or move very far away from each other.

 

If Dean gets it then he doesn’t let on and it frustrates Sam a bit, but then they make love and it’s okay because Dean understands this. Dean is a maestro in bed and he’s all Sam’s. Everything that Sam is ever going to need.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've heard a few interpretations of the piece but it's definitely Joshua Bell that Sam's listening to - Sam and I both have a very sweet tooth :)


End file.
